Coal
by baja-king
Summary: Hogan leads another sabotage mission and everything goes without a hitch. Why is he suffering regret?
1. Chapter 1

_December 23, 1942_

Laying prone on the ice-cold ground, Hogan silently cursed his youthful years of praying for a white Christmas. Now, he wanted nothing more than to be transferred to the beautiful territory of Hawaii. Somehow, he would have to work on it, but tonight London insisted on one less munitions factory. The falling snow would cover his tracks but reflected the light from the full moon. He saw Carter, LeBeau, and Newkirk make a beeline from the factory to the woods, inviting a mixture of relief and dread. If Hogan saw them, there was a chance so did one of the security guards.

Typically, munitions factories operated on a twenty-four hour schedule, but this one made an exception for the advent season. Long ago, Hogan accepted civilian casualties as a fact of war. At least during this yuletide, he could keep the numbers to a minimum. He consoled himself with hopes of saving more lives in the future rather than those lost during his current nightmare.

Hogan's black outfit belied him as the typical escaping prisoner. If caught, Hochstetter would have a field day with undeniable proof that Hogan was a saboteur: out of camp and out of uniform. The wait felt interminable. Several offices showed minimal activity as lights turned off or on, indicative of persons mindful to a war situation. If not in the room, keep it dark to facilitate black out conditions during an air raid. More than likely, the scant numbers remaining at the factory processed superfluous paperwork.

One truck exited the compound. Hogan silently swore. He knew from the sound of the straining transmission and difficulty gaining speed that the truck carried a heavy load. If he moved from his position to intercept and toss a grenade, it would make an excellent _boom_. It would also alert security guards to the presence of saboteurs.

Something disturbed the dried bush and Hogan guarded his breath. He kept perfectly still. He knew it was not a person walking with purpose. The intruders revealed themselves: a small group of red deer foraged scant grass. One stag remained vigilant while ten hinds scratched through snow.

Despite feeling a sense of majestic awe, Hogan needed the deer gone. They obscured his view of the factory. In addition, wolves followed deer herds. The stag maintained an impressive array with his antlers suggesting an older and experienced male. Yet the stag would interpret men creeping through the area attempting to avoid detection as predators.

Gunfire – the deer scattered and Hogan's heart skipped a beat as several rounds flew in his direction. The gunfire was deliberate and the laughter slightly intoxicated from Glühwein. Several more shots pealed, following the frightened group. As one man angrily shouted for his companions to stop wasting bullets, the factory began to blow.

Hogan kept a careful eye. Men ran towards the building trying to start a fire brigade; he was interested in just three men running away. He saw his men and joined them in the dangerous evacuation from the perimeter. Terrified shouts calling for men to run away proved justified as cooking munitions exploded with rage.

The four men kept running until they no longer heard shouts. They paused in a small clearing in the woods to catch their breath. The sky behind them glowed orange as black clouds billowed into the sky. The air felt heavy.

Carter smiled, "I got my Christmas present – one less munitions factory."

"Très bien," agreed LeBeau.

Newkirk scoffed, "I thought we were done for when Jerry started shooting."

Hogan calmly said, "They were aiming for the deer."

Newkirk scowled, "They were drunk!"

Carter shrugged, "Made it easier for us to get in and get out."

LeBeau teased, "Ragoût de viande de Cerf sounds pretty good."

"Let's go," Hogan ordered.

As tempting as deer stew sounded, Hogan could not justify such a meal procurement. Rabbits entered the camp occasionally, thus justifying the frequent indulgences. Any hole in the fence large enough for a deer to exploit proved true for a man, and that was something the krauts simply would not tolerate.

The men resumed their evacuation and headed back to Stalag 13. As they had done on countless occasions, they used the emergency exit to sneak back into camp. The routine activity reassured Hogan that the krauts remained oblivious to their absence. He sent his men to bed while he remained in the radio room with Kinchloe.

"Sounds like a successful mission," smiled Kinchloe as he tapped the report.

Hogan sighed, "Yes, it was. There were still too many people there."

Kinchloe paused his tapping and said, "Colonel, there's no such thing as an empty munitions factory. Be thankful that it was minimally staffed."

As the radioman resumed his tapping, Hogan said, "I wish this damned war was over."

"You shortened it, even if just a few weeks," said Kinchloe. "Better get some rest. You'll want to look pretty for Hochstetter in the morning."

Hogan laughed, "I love watching that vein in his forehead bulge." He wanted to go to bed but felt obligated to remain with Kinchloe until the tapping concluded. With London satisfied, Hogan had Kinchloe sign off for the night.

No one groaned in protest when the two men emerged from the tunnel. The three men were already in bed but not yet asleep while other bunkmates snored in varying degrees. Hogan bade a quiet goodnight before entering his room. He felt the chill and realized his stove died. The longer he remained in his black clothes with smudged face the greater the risk of being caught.

Hogan quickly changed into his pajamas and robe. He grabbed a rag and dampened it. The water felt frigid as he wiped his face. Then he set to the task of adding wood to the stove and lighting it. He sat next to the stove for twenty minutes before the room proved warm enough for sleep. As soon as his head hit the pillow, exhaustion immediately set in and he fell asleep.

#HH#

_December 24, 1942_

London gave the heroes a present: no missions. Neither side called for a truce but military engagements dramatically decreased. The enemy continued its retreat from the Caucasus region. Distant smoke plumed from the former munitions factory. Guards remained on edge until Schultz started singing carols.

Hogan forced a smile. Roll call offered little news. Klink chose not to relate any information about the munitions factory despite goading and prompting. The Kommandant seemed more intent on Heiliger Abend, the local version of Christmas Eve. The prisoners had no work details. It seemed the day was theirs to decorate dreary barracks, exchange meager presents, and sing festive tunes.

Helga came in to do some work but remained distracted. Hogan tried asking what was wrong. He stood in confusion when she yelled at him to leave her alone. Klink came out of his office and sternly said, "Colonel Hogan, return to your men."

Hogan did not understand but left. He felt that Klink knew what was going on with Helga. He loitered outside of the Kommandantur. Langenscheidt mindlessly used a cloth to wipe away nonexistent smudges. Hogan wanted to talk to Helga when she came out of the Kommandantur in tears but Schultz blocked his way. Hogan stood dumbstruck as Helga got into the car while Langenscheidt sat behind the wheel.

As the car pulled away, Schultz said, "Colonel Hogan, I'm sorry you had to see that. Today should be a happy day."

Hogan sternly said, "You know something."

Schultz sighed, "Her uncle died last night."

Hogan said, "I see. It's a bad time of the year for that. I take it that it was unexpected?"

Schultz gravely replied, "No one ever expects the sabotage."

Hogan's heart stopped and his face lost all color. He did not want to ask the question but he needed the answer. He saw it in the guard's eyes. He finally uttered, "That munitions factory."

Schultz said, "Ja, that's correct. He wasn't even supposed to be there."

Hogan lowered his eyes and said, "I feel bad – for Helga."

"Sure," said Schultz with some reassurance. "These things happen in war. You want our munitions factories to go boom! But you also like Fraulein Helga and feel sad that she lost someone who raised her as if she was his own daughter."

Hogan looked up, "Daughter?"

Schultz said, "I thought you knew Fraulein Helga very well."

Hogan said, "Apparently not. I'll talk to her when she comes back."

"She's not coming back," said Schultz. Hogan looked at him with pleading eyes. Schultz continued, "She resigned. Kommandant Klink will hire a new secretary after the season."

Hogan said, "Resigned?"

Schultz said, "Ja. Her aunt needs help with the funeral. Once things are taken care of here, they're going to move to Frankfurt."

Hogan said, "I feel bad."

Schultz said, "I know. Don't let this ruin your appetite."

Hogan slowly walked away. Helga was leaving. He charmed many secrets out of the secretary. To say that it was simply business would be a lie. He felt genuine affection for Helga. She felt sympathetic to the Allied cause. If Hogan had known she had a close relative at his target, he would have warned her. He envisioned the conversation in his head. Then he realized that he epitomized the sad sack stuck inside a POW camp on a holiday.

It was the longest day that Hogan ever suffered. Outwardly, he boosted the morale of his men. Inwardly, he considered darker options. If he escaped without permission and refused to return to his command, London would have his head while the Gestapo would put his men before the firing squad. He wanted his men to have a good Christmas but knew he ruined the holiday for local Germans.

Did any of Schnitzer's family work at the factory? At least a bombing mission offered vague anonymity – those damned Englanders did it! Sabotage meant someone in the immediate vicinity with a stake. Schnitzer would know it was the Underground. How deep were the family ties? Helga must have figured it out and felt betrayed by the lack of warning.

When lights out arrived Hogan felt dread. The Gestapo did not visit. Hochstetter always made a beeline for the camp whenever sabotage occurred. Had the investigative officer targeted an innocent man or woman? Was he waiting until after the holiday as some sort of diabolical plan to inflict the greatest amount of psychological trauma?

Hogan tossed and turned in his bunk. He felt as if his thoughts were spinning out of control. He replayed the bombing in his mind. He thought he discerned people in windows that he did not notice earlier. Helga approached the building riding her bicycle. He had to warn her away. The building had fifty – no, one hundred guards patrolling the perimeter. The building exploded. Deer fell, including the mighty buck.

Cold…fear…hunger…shame…

As Hogan sat up, he discerned a figure in his room. Briefly, he smelled the minute smoke and saw a lit match quickly extinguish as it drew away from a candle. He realized his visitor smelled of warm gingerbread and Glühwein. Dressed in white with gold brocade adorning the chasuble vestment, the bearded man set the candle on the table and sat in a chair intent on a respite.

Hogan asked, "Who are you?"

"Perhaps I am your subconscious," replied the old man. "I'm trying to wake up but you refuse to go to sleep."

Hogan frowned, "You look more like a priest."

The old man asked, "Do you need one to confess your sins to?"

Hogan climbed out of bed and grasped for his robe. He decided he was going mad. The ruse seemed too bizarre to be some type of Gestapo trick. He took a chair at the table and said, "This is one hell of a nightmare."

"War is hell," the old man said. "There is absolution for the penitent man."

Hogan said, "I do what I can to end this war sooner instead of later."

The old man said, "Still, innocent people suffer."

Hogan rested his elbows on the table, folded his hands together, closed his eyes, and sighed, "I know. It's not who I am. That's what scares me the most."

The old man said, "Rescue those who are being taken away to death; hold back those who are stumbling to the slaughter."

Hogan looked up and said, "You _are_ a priest."

The old man laughed, "Proverbs 24:11." Sobering his tone, he pulled out a small package, set it on the table, and said, "It is time for me to go. I thought it best that I be the one to deliver this tonight."

Hogan picked up the package. It felt dense and uneven. He undid the string that held the brown paper in place. He smiled, "That's quite a lump of coal. It'll do nicely in the stove."

The old man stood, "You have done some bad things. You are _not_ a bad man. There is hope for you, Robert. May God bless you in your hour of greatest need. Merry Christmas."

Hogan smiled, "You're alright for my subconscious. I guess it's time that I go to sleep so you can wake up and fill my head with dreams, and hopefully not nightmares. Merry Christmas."

The candle extinguished and Hogan stood up with extreme haste. He gently called out while groping in the dark to get to the light switch. He repeatedly blinked his eyes when the lights turned on, until his focus cleared. He was alone and the room felt very cold. The fire in the stove died.

Sitting on the table was a large lump of coal. Hogan had not seen any coal rations in several months due to the shortages. Men had to scrounge wood until Klink received permission from the local forstmeister to fell trees suitable for consumption. Coal burned longer and hotter than wood did. Hogan picked up the lump. It was real.

Quietly, Hogan opened the door and entered the main barracks room. It felt just as cold despite the fifteen or sixteen men sleeping in bunks. Hogan stoked the meager fire and added the coal. He grabbed a small bit of firewood from the bucket and returned to his room. After adding the wood to his stove, he tightly rolled up the piece of paper that previously had wrapped the lump of coal. He used the string to tie securely the roll before lighting it on fire. Carefully, he inserted his makeshift kindling into his stove.

Once satisfied that he had an adequate fire, Hogan turned off the lights and went to bed. His stomach felt unusually empty. Yes, some gingerbread and Glühwein would be great. Neither would be expected in Christmas Red Cross parcels. Hogan gave up much in order to make a difference.

_Fin_


	2. Chapter 2

_December 25, 1942_

Standing in formation, Hogan wanted a simple day of relaxation for all, and remembrance of the season. While no one objected, Hogan longed to return home. Once dismissed, men scattered to exchange handcrafted presents and sing Christmas carols. He reflected on his life choices. He decided yes, he would do it all over again.

#HH#

Dear Unsung Heroes,

Wishing you and your families a very happy Christmas. We salute your bravery and valor. Your commitment and dedication is greatly appreciated. On this solemn day, we wish you peace in your life. Thank you for your protection and strength. Thank you for keeping us safe from our enemies and sacrificing your personal freedom to guarantee ours.

· Dutch: Vrolijk kerstfeest

· French: Joyeux Noël, Nedeleg Laouen, Bon Natale, E güeti Wïnâchte

· German: Frohe Weinachten

· Italian: Buon Natale, Bon Natali, Bun Nadèl

· Klingon: toDwI'ma' qoS yItIvqu' (Our Savior's birthday you-enjoy!)

· Lakota: Wanikiya Tonpi Wowoyuskin & Omaka Teca Oiyokipi

· Latin: Felicem Diem Nativitatis (happy day of the nativity)

· Polish: Wesołych świąt Bożego Narodzenia

· Portuguese: Feliz Natal

· Russian: S rozhdyestvom Hristovym

· Spanish: Feliz Navidad, Nochebuena, Bon Nadal, Eguberri

· Swedish: God Jul

With greatest sincerity,

Hogan's Heroes Fan Fiction Writers


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